The First Fellowship
by Kaldrith Lascennie
Summary: The Pontifex Maximus brings together a fellowship of Engel specially trained to remain more faithful than any other Engel when doubting questions arise. But are the Engel as strong and pure as he believes?


Disclaimer: I don't own any part of **Engel**; any and all ideas in the world of **Engel** belong to Feder & Schwert and to Sword and Sorcery, both of which own it. This story is based on the first **Engel** campaign I ran with my friends, and since I ran it with the knowledge only provided in the corebook, the reality of **Engel** as far as S&S and F&S know it is probably misrepresented here. Sorry if it disappoints you. Also, the storyline represented here most likely does and will deviate from whatever storyline exists in **Engel** and its supplement books. Caution: spoilers for the game are highly included; please don't read it if you're going to end up yelling at me for revealing game secrets. So, now that that's out of the way ... enjoy, and remember to R&R!

Kaldrith

_

* * *

_

_The Dreamseed were coming._

_He stood at the command of the armies of the Engel, standing to defend mankind from the insect-like spawn of the Lord of the Flies. The enemy numbered in the thousands, perhaps in the tens of thousands, crawling and fluttering over the grasses like an instant plague. Still the Messengers of Light held their ground, the fearlessness of immortality steadying their blades and sharpening their instincts. In his gut, he knew this battle would be the turning point, the factor which would determine if darkness or light would rule the planet, and in turn, the humans created in the image of God._

_As the Dreamseed neared the battle line, he turned to face his commander, and hopefully, to draw inspiration from his presence. The Pontifex Maximus stood on one of the Sarielites' floating discs, his hands folded quietly behind him, and his young-looking eyes blazed a six-hundred-year-old intelligence. Quite abruptly, he smiled pleasantly._

_The Engel felt a terrible cold knot settle in the pit of his stomach when the Pontifex Maximus smiled. Strange; that same grin had always brought him comfort and relief before. But now, on the day which would decide the fate of the world, the Heretical thought came to him: _

_Who was the greater enemy—the Dreamseed before him, or the childlike man behind him?_

Lorel started awake, and nearly cried with relief as his brain registered the familiar layout of his small cella in the Michaelite Himmel. Rubbing his eyes, he glanced out the tiny window, noting the grey of predawn staining the clouds, and he slumped back into his pillows. Soon enough, the bells would ring, and the Himmel would spring into action, sweeping him away from his dream in a flurry of activity ...

But that would not happen for a while yet, and until that time, he must remain here, with the remnants of his dream plaguing his conscience. The dream had haunted him from his second month of training, growing more and more intense and realistic as he approached his Consecration. Such dreams were not befitting an Engel of the Lord; Engel were perfect and faithful and undoubting, accepting whatever answer or order was given.

Lorel's faith faltered, however. He questioned answers and orders, and he doubted. Not the Lord, though; no, he believed quite firmly in the Lord who had created the Earth. He merely wondered what He had been thinking when He allowed this imperfect, unfinished Engel to be born to serve mankind. No one knew, of course; he'd be punished at the least, banished at the worst, if even his Confessor knew. It wasn't well-known, especially among the other Orders, but faulty Engel were when their training seemed to lose its hold on them. Some speculated that Hell itself reached for them. He himself was terrified of that prospect.

Thankfully, no one seemed to notice, though it felt as if he were labeled with bright red ink, "Heretic." Unwilling Heretic, but nonetheless—Heretic.

When the bells rang, he forced himself to forget his troubles, and threw himself heart-first into his work. As a Michaelite, he was schooled in diplomacy and leadership, with enough solid weapons training to give the Dreamseed a run for it. He would lead his own fellowship one day, and he had to be ready for whatever occasion the work of the Church had for him.

One of his largest doubts pertained to himself and his leadership abilities, and his dream wasn't the only support he used for his theory. His training had long since expired, and six months after he should have been Consecrated, he was assigned under a tutor that trained him ruthlessly to look from every angle. Even a Heretic's point of view was shoved in his mind to enact and examine. He was afraid, as more and more of his year-mates were Consecrated and bound to their fellowships, that he would be taken as a faulty Engel before too long.

He tried not to think about this on his way to the classroom after breakfast. A note on the door interrupted his struggle, and a knot clenched his heart. For the Pontifex Maximus had summoned him.

* * *

The flight from Mont Salvage had been a long and refreshing one, but Casiel was relieved enough to welcome the sight of Roma Æterna with all her heart. Her wings, despite the best of Urielite long-distance training, were tired and shaky, and she longed for something besides stale manna to eat. She couldn't wait to be Consecrated! After all, why else would she have been summoned to Peter's Cathedral, especially after all the extra training she'd gone through?

The city sprawled comfortably over the highlands overlooking the Tiber River in what used to be Italy in the Time Before. It glittered in the midmorning sunlight like a mass of jewels set by God's hand. Unlike most of the towns she had seen, Roma Æterna had stone roads and stone houses, and in the middle of it all rose the Michaelite Himmel, a torch leading the masses to the light of redemption. Near the Himmel, the dome-shaped Cathedral stood as a bastion of hospitality to the people of Europe. It was there that the Pontifex Maximus held his throne and tended his flock. She wondered extensively about how the humans lived here as opposed to the tiny poor villages outside Mont Salvage. Did they scurry when it rained? Did they have to close up shop? What were the children like? Would they accept her feathers as a blessing of the Lord, or did they only accept Michaelite feathers?

Casiel shuddered as her wings carried her over the man-made buildings, and she slowed a bit to regain her equilibrium. She had always had special soul-affinity with nature, which enabled her to feel the life of God's creation pulsing through trees and grass and mountains. Even though she could only sense it on the edge of her awareness, it was potent enough to make itself known to her. It was one of the most wonderful things in her life.

Cities, though—or anything man-made, for that matter—sent small rivulets of cold through her veins. The acrid, unnatural tang struck her with the force of a backhand blow, throwing off her balance, scattering her senses for minutes at a time until she grew accustomed to it. She hated cities, yet admired their makers. _Would that be considered irony or poetic justice? I never could tell between the two._

Then she sensed Engel nearby, which should have been a moment of joy for her. But she was forced to slow yet again as that same tang of man-made creation overloaded her senses. It was the Engel that shorted her equilibrium, sensing as if they were man-made. Even she let off that bitter scent, when she chose to look within herself. But everyone knew that God had sent them from heaven to protect the humans from the Dreamseed and faithlessness.

This was a paradox which she had no answer to, and which she had no desire to ask about. She meant well, and her work always received top marks, so why should anyone suspect her of being faulty? If she said nothing, no one would take her away.

Unless, of course, God told the Pontifex Maximus. Then the demons would come for her for sure. So since no demons had come yet, she assumed that she wasn't faulty. But she tried to forget the strange feeling she got from Engel, and struggled to remain faithful.

Like now. She focused on her anticipation of her Consecration, and sped up just a trifle. She almost missed the Engel bearing down upon her until it was too late.

* * *

If none of the other Engel understood how the extra training had benefited them, Gaviel knew exactly how he had benefited. His extra six months in the Gabrielite home of Nuremberg had made him into one of the best warriors ever seen in the Order. His powers were under his complete control, and he could call them without a second of hesitation. His flaming sword almost never missed its mark. He could ignore all but the mortal pain of death well enough to continue fighting in the middle of a battle. He had been chosen for specialty training, had excelled in that training, and now he flew to Roma Æterna for the first time to receive his Consecration and accomplish his first mission for the Church.

Gaviel was an Engel entirely devoted to the cause of the Lord; namely, protecting the humans, rooting out the Heretics, annihilating the Dreamseed, and harassing the Junklords, formally known as Diadoches. He had no patience for potentially-Heretical questions or lapses in faith, even in himself. Especially in himself.

Not that he ever had any, really. He loved the Lord with all his heart, and trusted the Angelitic Church to carry out His will. He had a slight problem with humans, mostly because they weren't strong enough to take care of themselves and keep their faith steadfast. And then there were children, who irritated him beyond anything. Too many questions, too little intelligence to handle the answers. His rare encounters with children usually entailed him watching in authoritative silence, refusing to utter a single word lest he make one of them cry and all the world fall to hell.

He was fond of some children, though. The smart ones were the easiest to handle; they knew what he was talking about and when to stop asking questions. But he only gave his feathers to the children who took up practice swords and attempted to teach themselves to fight. He realized that it was mostly for play, but he couldn't help feeling a special kinship with these humans, as if they were brothers. So he'd take time out of his day to give them a few pointers, show them a few moves, then leave them with feathers of blessing and tales of "training with a Gabrielite."

Those days were over for now, unless he met children on his mission. He would be Consecrated, bound to a fellowship, and sent to do the Pontifex Maximus' bidding. He could hardly wait. He hoped that the members of his fellowship would be able to stand by him and accomplish the mission to the letter. Otherwise he'd have to get in their faces and set them straight.

His flight path led alongside another Engel's, a Urielite, if he wasn't mistaken. She was moving awfully slow, taking her time, drinking in the sight of Roma Æterna. Well, he was in a hurry. He put on a burst of speed, and soared past her.

Quite unintentionally, the tip of his wing brushed hers, and she tumbled in the air for a moment before regaining her lift. She shot him a dirty look and a few shouts, but at this height he couldn't hear her. _Ah,_ he thought to himself. _Hope she's not in my fellowship. _

* * *

__

Flying was not Danielle's forté, and when she had her medical supplies strapped to her back, it was worse. Still, she made the most of her trip to Roma Æterna. She bound her long blond hair tightly to her head, kept low altitude, and tried not to look down too often. Gravity had a tendency of pulling her down when she looked down. Thankfully, Gratianopel wasn't more than a day and a half's flight from Roma Æterna.

She was grateful that her training was over. A healer's training was strenuous enough. A Raphaelite's training was five times so. All-night death watches, flash epidemics, entire towns decimated in months, sometimes weeks. The complicated application of both God-given power and remedial herbal mixtures, the timing of such things. The consequences of famine and inadequate sanitation. Encountering such conditions after the sterility of the Himmel was a shock that few could survive. That Raphaelites still emerged from training fully capable of handling desperate and hopeless situations stunned everyone, and generated respect and awe from the other Orders. Usually, the only side effect of Raphaelite work was that a Raphaelite's rage was difficult to provoke, but when awakened, it burned with a fire to rival a Gabrielite's battlelust. No one argued with an angry Raphaelite on a tirade, especially if there was disease nearby. The Raphaelite power to generate diseases was terrifying and deadly.

If a Raphaelite had dealt enough with the Vitusdance virus to duplicate it through her power, she could level the world if she chose and concentrated hard enough. Vitusdance was the virus that had ended life as mankind knew it in the Time Before, killing everyone above the age of puberty—the Age of Responsibility, twelve years. The disease was communicable through any means, was highly contagious, and killed after a matter of seconds. The victim spasmed in violent seizures, then collapsed in death, a bizarre grin plastered on the face. Some six hundred years after it first swept the world, a cure was yet to be found, and the plague still cropped up in odd places. Some called it the hand of God punishing the sinners. Others, herself included, wondered if it wasn't a sick trick invented by the Lord of the Flies.

Other mysteries roamed the world, and it was her job to decipher them and make a cure. Most of the time, she succeeded. In one particular instance, she had failed numerous times.

The problem was with her own body. She could swear that there was some bodily function that needed to happen in order for her to grow properly, but she couldn't place it. The other Raphaelites assured her that she was in good health, and she kept up her diet and her exercises and her prayers. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something terribly wrong with her body, as if it were stuck in a neverending loop.

She landed on the outskirts of the city, and walked the rest of the way to Peter's Cathedral. Once there, she informed a Monach why she was here, set her pack down, and slumped on a chair, determined to regain some energy before the Pontifex Maximus called her to his throne room.

* * *

It was a Ramielite's business to know things and then to learn more, particularly in his chosen field of study. Ramielites were notorious for a visible need to learn everything about whatever they were passionate about. And while many will argue that a Ramielite is most passionate about knowledge, many will also agree that certain knowledges are more important than others to most Ramielites. The Ramielite who will seek knowledge for the sake of knowledge is almost unheard of, and the one who will research extensively in fields outside his passions are few and far between.

Elimael was one of those few and far between. His chosen passions were history, religion, and languages, yet he had also thoroughly examined the Law and how it applied to Engel and mankind, Dreamseed patterns and tactics, and the basic laws of science. His driving passion was that of understanding how the world around him worked. Whatever question he had, he sought the answer.

Which had invariably got him into trouble. While it was common for a Ramielite to ask strange questions of the Monachs and Begines who served as their tutors, Elimael's questions were beyond strange. His first imprudent question concerned how God made the Engel, and why He had made them in the seeming of mortal flesh. The Begine teaching him at the time had stared him in white-faced, disbelieving outrage, then commanded him to study his Bible more closely. When he explained that the answer wasn't there, and that was why he was asking, she replied sternly that if it wasn't in the Bible, then God clearly didn't want them to know. He asked why God wouldn't want them to know, for the humans knew how they were made, so why would He hide the Engel's creation story? She banished him to his rooms for the remainder of the day, and refused to answer any of his unusual questions afterward.

So he took his questions to the Ab, who reacted much the same way, and so Elimael shrugged and scoured the Himmel Library for any scrap of knowledge pertaining to whatever he was seeking, then pieced the information together to make something that made some sense with what he knew of the world, God, Engel, and man. Often he complimented the written knowledge he found in the Library to what he experienced on his training missions.

When the answers he pieced together ranged into the Heretical, he had written to the Pontifex Maximus himself to beg for the truth or, if the truth was unavailable to him, to submit himself as unworthy of the title of Engel. Petrus Secundus' response was short and to the point: "Your answers are intriguing, Elimael. Keep searching. You may find the God you are so ardently looking for, and when you find Him, perhaps He will answer the questions that no one on earth has the answers for."

As Elimael landed between the Michaelite Himmel and Peter's Cathedral, he wondered what Petrus had wanted him to find. Because he had found God, and he had spoken with Him in dreams. It was a little disappointing, because while God was a good conversationalist, He always said the same thing, no matter which question Elimael asked.

He said, "I'm sorry, My child. Forgive Me for letting them do such horrible things to you and your brethren."

* * *

In the chambers of Pontifex Maximus Petrus Secundus, the five gathered. For a few moments they studied one another with bewilderment and, in Gaviel's case, arrogance. Perhaps the extra six months in Nuremberg were too much for the young Gabrielite's ego; already he sneered at the Ramielite's long, unkempt hair, and looked down his nose at Lorel—_especially_ Lorel—as if challenging his leader to prove his worth.

If all had been done right, then all should be remedied within the first few missions. But he was getting ahead of himself.

The Pontifex Maximus rose from his throne, and approached his Engel. They towered over his immortally-young body, but that fact didn't stifle his authority. They affixed their attention solely on him, and waited for his words.

He held out his arms in a welcoming embrace. "Welcome, my children. It is wonderful to meet you here. I have long anticipated the completion of your training, and now it seems that day is at hand." Relief washed over their faces; he continued before they could get their hopes up too high. "As some of you may have reasoned, your additional training was for a purpose. I need someone who is utterly faithful to me and yet who can go into Heretical territory and return to me more affixed in the faith than before. All of you have learned the most steadfast truths of your Orders to keep your faith in check even better than any other Engel in the world. I have done this so that my most sensitive missions will be carried out without the further Temptation and Corruption of entire fellowships of Engel. The Lord of the Flies has been very calculated and subtle in his work. Your extra training is a direct safeguard against that very event. Use it well.

"Now, before your Consecration can take place, I have a mission for you, a final test, you might say. You must work under the presumption that you are bound as a fellowship. The Michaelite will lead as he deems fit, the Gabrielite will defend as needed, the Ramielite provide knowledge, the Raphaelite healing, and the Urielite the way home, as well as each of you finding his or her own personal niche in the fellowship. I must ensure that your training is sound before I can send you out into the world."

He studied each of their faces intently, and stifled a grin. They were clearly not happy about working together; Gaviel's scowl deepened even as his eyes professed his grudging assent to the task. The Pontifex Maximus continued: "Your mission is simple. You must escort a Legate to the town of Danura, three days' journey north, and retrieve a family of Heretics. They have long been a thorn in my side, and they must come here for trial and questioning. Typically, I would leave this matter to the Legate, for he carries much power in the Angelitic realm. However, a Diadoche has extended his borders to include Danura, and the family is rather large and may not cooperate, especially if they have the Junklord's protection. So, your mission is twofold: see the Legate and the family back to Roma Æterna safely, and gather what information you can about the Diadoche who dares to take territory so close to the heart of the Lord's land. Are there any questions?"

Of course there were; the confusion ran rampant across their faces. Yet they deemed the questions unworthy, for they declined to ask them.

He informed them that the Legate would arrive in two days, and recommended taking the time to get to know one another. Then he dismissed them, and their groans became vocalized as they left Peter's Cathedral and followed the Monach to their cellae in the Michaelite Himmel.

Lorel studied his unbound fellowship as they walked to their new quarters. As yet they had been unintroduced, except by Order. The Ramielite and the Raphaelite spoke in quiet, tentative tones, the Urielite looked about her in round-eyed curiosity, and the Gabrielite kept his eyes straight forward as he walked, his air proud and dignified. They didn't seem to be melding, as the other fellowships did. He figured it must be because they were unbound. Yet he worried about the intentional distance between them, as if they didn't want to know or work with one another, as if they would rather be at home back in training.

_And I feel the same way. What does that mean?_

As they placed their scant belongings in the one-room cella and chose bunks, Lorel called for their attention. "I find it rather disturbing that we are acting as a fellowship, and yet we don't even know each other's names. It's very tacky to refer to one another by Order."

"I don't think it would be such a bad idea," countered the Gabrielite proudly, "especially since the odds are great that we will be reassigned."

The Raphaelite folded her arms contemptuously. "What makes you think that? We've only been together for a few moments."

Gaviel cast green eyes dripping with haughty venom at her. "I hold none of you in high regard. The odds are great that _I_ will be reassigned, but I will give you all the benefit of the doubt." He smirked as if he were a king giving an exceptionally gracious gift to an undeserving underling.

_Wonderful. Trouble in a handbasket._ Danielle watched as everyone's faces hardened, and she realized that if she didn't intervene now, her "fellowship" would be sundered within moments. "It is the Pontifex Maximus who is giving us a chance," she corrected the warrior. "We have to prove that we are worthy to do the Church's work, that the extra effort to train us wasn't wasted on a bunch of spoiled brats." She swept her gaze around the group. "Let us show him that we can overcome anything, even inner turmoil in the fellowship, in order to accomplish what he asks of us."

They all looked slightly stunned, and the Gabrielite looked scandalized, but he covered it quickly. Lorel stifled a smile, then continued, "Now let's introduce ourselves. I am Lorel. My specialties are tactics and diplomacy."

"What about leadership?" sneered Gaviel.

Lorel gifted him with a hard glare. "I haven't been tested in my leadership skills yet. That test occurs on the field. I am confident that my training will guide me sufficiently to lead the fellowship. Now, tell me a little about yourselves."

The Urielite was the first to answer. "My name is Casiel, and my specialties are scouting and survival in the wild. I'm also a pretty good fighter."

Gaviel smirked and raised a brow, but said nothing.

"My name is Danielle," announced the Raphaelite, "and well, my gift and power are for healing."

"Which path do you follow, life or death?" asked Elimael.

Her blue eyes brightened intensely. "Neither. I walk the middle ground. It makes me unpredictable and versatile, neither of which I am in social or combat situations."

The Ramielite introduced himself next. "I am Elimael."

Danielle grinned amiably, and teased, "Let me guess, you are the keeper of secrets and the well of knowledge."

Elimael shrugged. "That was standard training. The last six months covered reading and writing Common and Latin, as well as several treatises on Heretical questions and how to answer them from the Bible and from day-to-day experience."

The Gabrielite glowered. "The answers should all come from the Bible, not from mundane secular life!"

Elimael pointed out, "Sometimes, for humans, faith in what the Bible says isn't enough."

Rage flared in Gaviel's emerald eyes. "Faith should be enough! It is enough for us!"

"The humans are frailer than we, my friend," Elimael murmured softly, stunned by his vehemence. "They have more fear and less understanding. They don't have the voice and hand of God Himself directing their rigid paths. They have the ability to fall and not realize it, for such is the nature of free will."

Before the Gabrielite could elaborate further, Lorel wrenched his attention back to the original issue. "What is your name, Gabrielite? And what do you offer us, besides your standard warrior training?"  
  
The Engel sat up straight and puffed out his chest. "I am Gaviel," he announced regally. "My endurance is phenomenal, my knowledge of the enemy and his tactics complete, my sword sharp and swift, and my strength unyielding. I am a wonder among my Order. This should be enough to offer to the fellowship, considering that two of our number don't even have adequate warrior training." He eyed Danielle and Elimael disdainfully.

Danielle blinked contemptuously. "We can fight well enough. We aren't helpless."

"Can we take down hordes of Dreamseed?" added Elimael pragmatically. "No, but we can help defend the people and our fellowship."

Lorel ended in a stern voice, "Many of our missions will not require fighting. They will more than make up then for their lack on the battlefield, as you will more than make up for your lack in other areas on the battlefield."

Gaviel seethed, but said nothing.

Lorel held his hands out welcomingly. "Now that we know each other, let's go to the dining hall and break bread together. The more time we spend together, the quicker our differences will become reasonable and less offensive. Shall we?"

But despite his best efforts, every offensive difference became a mountain threatening to topple upon the fellowship. Sometimes they could talk one to one, but mostly they either fought or sat in stony silence. Gaviel was the worst antagonist of the four, harping on everything from Casiel's fascination with humans to Elimael's scraggly appearance.

"It is not fitting for an Engel to appear so crudely!" fumed the Gabrielite, his huge hulk towering over Elimael's small, light frame. This was the third time that he had forced his point, and Lorel had thrown up his hands in frustration and abandoned the two to settle it themselves.

The Ramielite's eyes widened, and he protested, "It is not a part of Ramielite life! Certain ideas are not enforced in every Order. My unbound hair is one of them; your insufferable pride is another!"

"I am a proud Engel," agreed Gaviel, "and for good reason. I can admit that. Can you admit that you look like an abandoned street child?"

Elimael threw his hands up in surrender. "Fine, Gaviel, but why does it matter?"  
Insatiable passion fixed itself in Gaviel's eyes, and Elimael's scorn drained away. This was no light matter to him.

"We are the representatives of the Pontifex Maximus and the Angelitic Church to the people," the Gabrielite explained softly. "If we appear unkempt and disheveled to them, then that is the image they will associate with the Church. As you said not long ago, humans measure much of their faith by what they encounter each day. If the Church appears ill-kept because of how you present yourself, we will lose the people to the Junklords and the Lord of the Flies. Can you understand me now?"

Elimael quirked a faint smile. "How can I not? But please hear me. I don't judge by appearances, so I have a hard time feeling the need to appear as something other than what I am: a scholar who has little passion for anything else but his books. I understand the need now for me to change in front of the people, but does the change need to be so absolute? When we are traveling, or in battle, or simply enjoying one another's company, must I be presentable then?"

Gaviel thought about it for a moment. "I think that as long as we're in a situation, like battle or travel or alone, that doesn't bring about a judgment by appearance, then you may wear your hair as you may. But otherwise, please pull it back or braid it like Casiel's, or at least brush it."

Elimael let his smile grow then. "I think I can handle that—although sometimes it'll be hard for me to recognize when I should look presentable. Would you remind me if I forget, until I get it straight?"

Gaviel agreed, and the fellowship had weathered its first compromise. Elimael rushed off to make good on his end of the bargain, while Gaviel wandered aimlessly around the Himmel, feeling good about himself. Perhaps these people could accomplish their duty.

His wanderings brought him to come across Danielle and Casiel talking in the outer courtyard. Danielle caught sight of him first and waved to him, so he took it upon himself to join them. Casiel glanced at him, and her face twisted into a scowl.

Danielle greeted him, then announced, "You look rather pleased with yourself. Accomplish something before we even start the mission?"  
  
He shrugged. "Well, yes." Then he launched into a description of his victory with the problem with Elimael.

When he had finished, Casiel said, "Well, you can compromise. Let's see if you can apologize."

His eyes darkened considerably. "I don't have anything to apologize for."

Her eyes flashed angrily. "You almost killed me when we were flying into Roma Æterna!"

"I was in a hurry. You were in my way. You're lucky you weren't directly in front of me. I would have knocked you out of the sky."

"You did knock me out of the sky!"

"You're standing here now. There's no harm done, except to your pride. I fail to see why I must apologize for brushing your wing with mine and making you focus on where you were going!"

"I was focusing on where I was going! Your wing made me lose my lift, and I almost fell all the way to the ground!"

"You only fell a few hundred feet, and aren't these the kinds of situations that your training is supposed to prepare you for?"

"For dealing with an arrogant, stuck-up Gabrielite?"

Danielle stood up and stepped between them, for she couldn't gain their attention by shouting. Both of them glared at her mercilessly, then turned back to one another to continue the tirade.

"I think," Danielle interrupted them before they could begin, "that this has gone on quite long enough. You two can't agree—"

"He refuses to agree!" Casiel shouted.

"She refuses to listen to me," Gaviel replied very coldly.

"It doesn't matter!" the Raphaelite cried, her face beginning to contort in anger. "Is it worth Sundering the fellowship over?"

Casiel stuck her chin out. "I can't see why it would be such a problem. We aren't bound as a fellowship."

"Which is why we must work extra hard to work together," came Elimael's voice from behind them. He joined Danielle in the middle, and Gaviel noted with pleasure that the Ramielite had brushed and bound his black mane. The silver eyes met his with an intensity that returned Gaviel's mind to the issue at hand. Elimael continued, "The Pontifex Maximus is sending us unbound on a mission for a reason."

"Completing the mission with the fellowship intact isn't a requirement," Gaviel grunted.

Elimael nodded. "That's true, but think about this: most Engel have to be bound to learn to work together as a fellowship, and only when their tattoos have matured can the bonding be released, except to enable the Michaelite telepathic power to function correctly. Are we most Engel?"

Gaviel scowled at Elimael's question. "No. We are the best of the best."

Elimael nodded to Danielle. "Then we must prove it," she urged them.

"In everything, even in maintaining the fellowship," Elimael added.

"We will not always be able to compromise," Danielle continued, "but I hope we can learn to agree to disagree, and eventually overcome our differences."

The two opponents glared at each other through Danielle and Elimael. Finally Gaviel shrugged. "I suppose I can tolerate your incessant questions."

Casiel sighed loudly. "I guess I can forgive you almost knocking me out of the sky."

Two large problems in one day were enough for Gaviel; he eased up just a smidgen, but it was enough for the rest of the fellowship to relax a little around him. Elimael kept good on his word, and since they were in Roma Æterna, Gaviel never needed to remind him to look presentable. Casiel and Gaviel gave each other a wide berth, allowing only words of greeting and courtesy escape toward one another. Lorel reappeared around dinnertime, and they spent the remainder of the next two days preparing for the journey and trying to tolerate the rest of their differences.


End file.
